Good Enough To Eat
by Zipporah
Summary: At age 23, Harry and Draco meet again, for an encounter unlike any they've previously shared. WARNING: This story contains SLASH, and is NOT for the faint of heart. If you are even remotely squeamish, GET OUT! (But yes, this really is humor...)


Title: Good Enough To Eat  
  
Author: Zipporah  
  
Genre: Humor/Romance (maybe "romance" isn't the best word, though.)  
  
Disclaimer: None of these characters belong to me. I am using them without permission, and for no purpose other than my own pleasure and hopefully yours. The story line is mine. Questions or concerns? Write a review!  
  
WARNING: In case you didn't see it in the summary, this story contains a lot of SLASH. It is all about SLASH. Further, due to the peculiar brand of humor found within, this story is NOT for the fastidious, squeamish, or faint of heart. I warned you.  
  
Notes: Thank you Corpruga, for your suggestions, and thank you fanfiction.net, for posting this. Thanks in advance for anyone who feels compelled or obligated to review.  
  
All that said, read on if you dare!  
  
Draco Malfoy, 23-year-old Wizarding boogyman and top minion of the Great Lord Voldemort, stared down at Harry Potter who was laid out open and naked in front of him. Everything about Harry, from the tops of the silken unruly black curls to the ends of his somewhat crooked but somehow fitting toes, was beautiful to the man who now stood above him. His face, complete with wide green eyes, a slightly upturned nose, and now pale and bloodless lips, gave Draco the most excitement he could ever remember having in the last few years. Harry's stiff body was sending shivers down Draco's spine; it was all lightly muscled with a thin layer of fat running the entire length. The muscles were slack, now, and Draco was relishing the fact.  
  
He smiled, just thinking about what was about to happen. He'd been planning on it and waiting on it for months - months that had seemed to last an eternity. Now that his opportunity was here, he planned to savor it. He imagined what Harry's soul must be going through, at the moment - he imagined the boy felt as strongly about the situation as he did. In his mind's eye, Draco could see his tongue running over that delicious body, tasting the salty sweet skin, and lapping up the spoils provided by Harry's fine flesh. Just thinking about the flavor of Harry's lips on his tongue was almost enough to make Draco moan.  
  
Feeling that he had wasted enough time thinking about Harry, Draco knelt down in front of the former enemy so that he was almost touching him. He could feel the gentle heat radiating from Harry's skin, feel the warm flesh just inches away from his own. As he sat before the prone form, Draco fancied he could feel Harry's soul whimper.  
  
Draco's hair had grown since his last encounter with a living, breathing Harry Potter. In order to savor the moment, the feelings of triumph and possessiveness running through his blood, Draco slowly bowed his head and let the ends of his hair run across the Harry's uncovered chest, just barely touching, feather light. Slowly, and ever so carefully, he bent his head further yet, let is shoulders move foreword the slightest bit, and placed his lips on Harry's neck. He inhaled deeply of the spicy human scent positively radiating off the other young man. This was what he'd been dreaming of for months. This was the conclusion he and Harry had been running to since they graduated from Hogwarts, now nearly six years ago. He allowed his senses to wallow in all that was Harry. He lifted his head, and in one bold gesture ran his tongue all the was across Harry's flat stomach. Harry's body seemed to stiffen even more.  
  
Back when they had been children in school together, Draco reflected, when the petty childhood rivalry had burned fierce, Draco had never imagined such a scene as was now taking place. Back then, he had still held beliefs only because his father told him to. Now, he knew better. He no longer listened to or believed everything his father told him. His true superiors and simple experience had taught his to listen to the words of only one Master; his life had taught him that only one person controlled his destiny. Harry inspired completely different feelings in his new self. The new feelings were more mature, more grown-up, and more solid. How mad he made me, Draco smirked at his old self, and now such pleasure he brings me.  
  
Draco went back to savoring the delectable treasure spread out before him. He decided to lick every inch of Harry's flesh before moving on, to better savor the experience. He began at the top and worked down. Harry's face tasted like Violet; Draco imagined he could see the depths of Harry's soul writhe. His neck tasted like Sage; Draco imagined Harry's soul was crying out. His chest and stomach were like Dill; Draco placed a hand under Harry's back, and Harry's chest rose and fell. He moved down to the feet. Harry's feet and ankles tasted like Rosemary; his calves tasted vaguely like Ginger; all throughout, Harry moved as Draco wanted to move, acted as Draco felt he should act. Draco smiled a secret, special smile to himself.  
  
When Draco reached his former adversary's thighs, he let his iron self- control give the slightest bit. The temptation was too great; he gently bit the inside of Harry's thigh. The tender flesh broke, and Draco felt himself grin as he lapped up the blood like water. He could now positively hear Harry's soul moaning, begging, crying out. The blood was scrumptious, and Draco wanted more. As that small essence of Harry flowed down his throat, Draco felt powerful. He also felt better than he had since he'd left Hogwarts. And he owed it all to his once mortal enemy.  
  
Finally, he could resist no longer. Slowly, gently, carefully, and savoring every moment, committing each second to memory, Draco worked his way back up to Harry's shoulder, down his arm, and finally to his slender hand. It was callused and strong, much like Draco's own, shaped by years of wielding a wand, first to learn how to protect himself then to actually go out and try. Draco picked up Harry's wrist and noticed with great satisfaction that Harry's body no longer had the strength to hold up even his hand. Draco steadied it, then slowly brought one delicate, slender, gentle and scrumptious digit to his mouth.  
  
He closed his mouth over the single finger while the others bent at an unnatural angle, touching his face in what could almost be called a reverent manner. At a snail's pace, he closed his jaw, felt his teeth graze the skin of Harry's finger. He bit harder. The tenderly cooked meat and bone came off in his mouth. He chewed lazily, as lazily he'd done everything else this fine evening. He swallowed. With Harry's flesh sliding down his throat, Draco reflected, eating could become an almost sensual act.  
  
Draco paused after his first bite and experienced the aftertaste. It lingered in his mouth, reminding him of the finest filet mingnon he'd ever tasted. He decided that the house elves, even thought the dratted creatures were far, far beneath him, might have to be complimented on their superior ability with a fine body of meat.  
  
As Draco leaned down to take another whole bite off of Harry's body, he thought to himself that his act lent entirely new meaning to the title Death Eater.  
  
Final Author's Notes: Well, that was that.. My twisted mind thought it up in the middle of math class last winter, and I finally wrote it. So, what do you think? Come on, tell me! I dare you! (Also, if anyone got the spice joke, would you tell me? And if you didn't, ask and leave e-mail in your review if you want to know.) 


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